


Between the Bones

by Narroch



Category: Death Note
Genre: M/M, Mild Gore, Non-Consensual Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-04
Updated: 2009-06-04
Packaged: 2017-11-12 00:36:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/484672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Narroch/pseuds/Narroch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>L's interrogation of Light is interrupted by the most unlikely person, and he has his own ideas on how to force a confession.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Between the Bones

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this back in '09 on fanfiction.net. Moved it over here to save it from the Purge of Filth.
> 
> Uncanny Valley – A pseudo-scientific term in the field of robotics. The closer a robot resembles a human, the more people are wary/disgusted/fearful of it. In the same way, the closer the copy is to the original, the more apparent his discrepancies.

The electric atmosphere trapped in the insulated walls sparks and recoils on itself, writhing through the air in the same way two figures writhe on the bed. Their heat combines and shimmers around them in coils of resplendent forbidden ecstasy. It is evident from the way their mouths are hung, trembling wide open from the onslaught of sensation, that their actions are based on seemingly pure carnal satisfaction. Their bodies slick with moisture, hair in disarray, hands gliding over hips…

But interspersed with the hot little pants, and the delectably placed moans as a particularly pleasant nerve is stoked, there are words. Strangely out-of-place words that hang about the room in a chilling wreath of condemnation, that put a keen cutting edge on the otherwise purely unfurled lust. The words keep both of them in perspective, warding them back from the edge of unprofessional overindulgence. This forbidden act is only allowed because they both believe (falsely or not) that it is a more effective method for the exchanging of information.

And so, while their bodies roil under wave after wave of teasing pleasure, their minds never wander from the task at hand.

Interrogation.

—

"Are you Kira?"

Pressure. Slight pivot. Gasp. Recover—

"Are _you_ Kira?" He twists in return, twining a leg up around the other man's thigh.

Dark eyes narrow.

"How could I be?" He leans forward to capture silky lying lips.

Hands reach up to card through and grip inky hair, pulling him back until their lips break apart.

"Just who is chasing who here, L?"

In response the other man ( _L_ ) heaves them both, bodily throwing the younger man beneath him on the bed, noting the triumphant grin that flashes across his face as he lands. They both know the line, both of them flaunting it without crossing. The smirk is a dare, and the matching hardness now pressed against his hipbone is an invitation.

For a second he is overwhelmed by both the implications of the statement and the possibilities of the gesture. The words are threatening, the body is beckoning, and it takes even him, L, the Greatest, a moment to sift through separate the millions of thoughts and impulses those crossed wires engender, before he can come up with an appropriate response. He snaps a handcuff deftly onto Light's wrist, pulling it up to encircle the bed frame before enclosing it around the other hand. Light silently allows the restraints, knows how vital their pretense is in their coupling.

L straddles him.

"I am hunting… Light…" With one hand he caresses a cheek "…And darkness…" He brushes his other hand along another lower cheek. Light widens his legs in response and his cock twitches as a long finger is pushed inside. But even as he allows the physical intrusion, he deftly blocks and rebounds the mental.

"You are searching for the darkness in me- or in _you_?"

L quickly removes his stretching fingers and Light gives a tiny groan at the loss. Whether it is punishment for the implication, or astonishment for the glibness of the words, Light can not tell. They stare hard for a few sparking seconds before L lifts Light's legs, and Light simultaneously moves his hands above his head to grip the metal frame headboard.

L leans over.

"Let me inside."

Light leans up.

"You can try."

The double meanings, the friendly clandestine threats, and the surprisingly (disturbingly) natural compatibility all clash. And it is that jarring unnerving sensation – being unable to fully and completely read the other – that leads them to continue, leads them to this unorthodox, dangerous path to begin with. It bucks logic, yet it feels right; and ultimately, with the Kira case currently in a dead end, neither can deny that this method bears results. Both feel like they gain something from these interactions: an observation, an answered question, a more intimate understanding of the other.

_Release._

In the next second they both arch, rapture zinging behind hooded eyes, so overwhelming that it is indistinguishable from the pain, and the only thing they can register is the singing of nerves and the doubled-over heat engulfing them both as they join bodies. Neither of them, with their superhuman observational skills, notice as the door suddenly clicks ajar, or the draft that cuts through the muggy haze of the previously sealed room. L and Light are both absorbed in, and deluded by, the feeling of being intimately connected to both a friend and enemy; and being so bound up in that sensation that they are suddenly unable to distinguish the line between those two identities.

When they are able to open their eyes, they are both surprised and slightly mortified to find that their bodies had gone into auto-drive and were already thrusting and bucking against one another before they had even come down from that first high of penetration. With their chests still heaving, they slow their movements and make eye contact, squirming and panting and trying to clamp down on the impulse to just move, and move, and _move_. They need a more controlled, more utilizable rhythm, and neither wants to be the needy one that pushes and breaks the mold. They are, after all, still laboring under the illusion that this is just another part of the professional investigation. Bodily impulses are to be used, not used by.

Light has to close his eyes in order to separate L from the pleasure he is feeling; he cannot afford to suddenly find these two elements indistinguishable. And so he feels, rather than sees, the hand that slowly wraps around his ripe erection, dully noticing that it is suddenly surprisingly colder than he remembers. He clenches his eyes tighter, to try and control the pulsing heat that bids him to buck up into that hand, cold as it is; and it is only because he has blinded himself that he notices the subtler differences:

The way L has stiffened, muscles so taut that they tremble slightly – a huge contrast from the calmly poised hand now palming him idly. The way his breathing hitches, so very different from before when he had been ruled by the passion of the moment. Even the feel of the air around him has changed in some ineffable way, and there is the slightest whiff of acrid smoke. All of this registers on Light's senses in an instant, jarring him out of their sexual haze in the same moment that he hears a voice.

"Never thought this of _you_ …"

For another split second he can't comprehend the words, can't fathom where they have come from, or why L would choose now of all times to say something like that. And even those words, the timbre of his voice, are… off. The discrepancies Light feels can not be rationally realigned, and his eyes flutter open to verify. L is still tilted over him, anchored between his legs; he has braced his arms on either side of Light, holding himself up.

_With both hands._

The hair on the back of Light's neck stands on end as he looks down in horror at the third arm reaching around from behind L, attached to the hand that is still gripped around his erection. He can do nothing to stifle the surprised undignified shriek that bubbles up from his gut as he simultaneously tries to scuttle backwards out of the reach of that foreign hand. But it tightens, turning into a painful clamp that holds him in place; he gasps in agony as his most sensitive piece of flesh is used as a handle.

"Oh no no no no, you can't leave in the middle, Yagami-kun, this is still a vital part of the investigation. Am I right, L?" The words float up from nowhere.

L's face is wide open; eyes, mouth, even his nostrils flare out in distress, a fearful transparency Light has never seen before on him. As Light absorbs the strange, frightening expression, he finally sees the source that engendered it: A second black shaggy head, rising like an eclipsed sun over the hunched horizon of L's right shoulder. Suddenly, unexpectedly, he is being smiled at ( _leered at)_ and he is struck by the disturbing perception that L has sprouted a second head, a demonic mirror reflecting his exact opposite.

Light's mind is wading through a bog, muddled by the still-present lust, and thought-hindering shock; it unhelpfully supplies the image of Greek masks, one stretched out in laughable joy, and the other twisted in sorrowful agony. In the same way L's face suddenly tightens, as if he is holding out against great pain, unwilling to show it openly on his face. Light watches, still terrified by the twilight situation, but also strangely fascinated by the transformation taking place right in front of him. He can _see_ L crumbling, the subtle grimace stretching, turning into an open-mouthed agony as his eyes collapse from wide-open-shock to scrunched lines of pain. A rusty wail is pulled from his lips as the pain crescendos to a peak that makes him spasm forward, jerking against and into Light. They both twitch as the agony crests, wavering for a few seconds before the wave finally breaks, and L suddenly goes limp, falling onto Light, crushing the third hand between their bodies.

A glint of silver catches Light's wide eyes, drawing his gaze up to the (reflection, twin, _L?_ ) intruder, finally able to fully see him. An industrial-sized syringe is pinched between his fingers, swaying precariously and still dripping a clear liquid from its hollow tip.

"Wow, it really went in didn't it, L? Right between the _boooones_!" The facsimile laughs, an alien noise that gallops awkwardly in the stunned silence.

Dread fizzles in Light's stomach as he listens to the unrhythmic giggle, intensely aware of every detail that, on the surface, seems perfectly in line, but nevertheless permeates a sense of wrongness. His uncombed hair, the black-rimmed eyes, the pale bony body, and even his clothes identical to L's. But the closer Light looks, the more glaring the differences become. The man is trapped in Uncanny Valley, as the slight curve of his nose, the tiny dimple, the misplaced arch of a muscle, the thin layer of makeup, all the tiniest details give him away. The subtle differences are spotlighted beneath Light's meticulous observation, focused on instantly in order to reassure himself.

_This is not L._

As the giggles finally die down, Light feels his own confidence rise up to the point of ridicule.

 _This is not L. This is a joke_.

"Who the hell are you?" Light growls, injecting a glare into his voice.

"Who am I?"

Suddenly nails are biting into Light's erection, gripping feverishly, pressing tightly enough to bring tears to his eyes. He cries out, surprised, in pain, as he redoubles his attempt to extricate himself from the man's grip. But the hand only tightens until Light can't help but scream at the humiliating agony of being literally manhandled.

L has no comment, nothing more than a boneless dead weight holding him down and hindering his movement.

Through the white static cloud of pain covering him, Light can hear the copy talking.

"…That is a really difficult question. My personal identity is a temporary thing, constantly in flux, never permanent. Since my consciousness is undoubtedly tied to my brain, my personality and world view are subject to the same physical changes that my brain and the rest of my body undergo. Just like everything else, in a constant state of metamorphosis. Souls are supposed to be simple, indivisible and eternal, but there is nothing like that in a human. And even if there was, how would an immaterial thing communicate with a material body? The point is that there is no essence in us, no soul to restrict the dynamic flow of personality and behavior. I can be whoever I want, because there is nothing to limit me to the identity I was supposedly born into. As long as the numbers match up, you can be anyone. So, let me turn your question around… Who do you _think_ I am?"

Light is dumbfounded, still wincing from the sharp shards of pain lodged in between his legs, while his mind is being overwhelmed by the philosophical torrent that just gushed from the copy's mouth. Light simply pants, trying to ascertain if he has any blood left in his abused extremity, and it is not until he feels another warning clench that he realizes that the question was not rhetorical.

"Yagami-kun… Who do you think I am?" And he is yanking Light's now-limp cock like he is trying to uproot a weed; a low keen is threaded from Light's mouth as he twists and arches his body to try and escape the torment. His hands, which had been previously holding onto the headboard, end up tight against the metal bands, pulling desperately against them until his tendons pop into sharp relief against his flesh. L is still lying across him, dark head tucked over Light's shoulder. The pain skyrockets to an excruciating plateau as the stranger's grip suddenly _twists_ , and Light throws his head back with a shriek, desperately squeezing against L, as if trying to transfer some of the burning pain away from himself. Light tries to kick out at his assailant, but he is shielded by L's prone form.

The leer has warped into a sneer; an unimpressed look that filters down from the cold height of the facsimile's eyes.

"Look at you… Trying to wrap your dirty, stained hands all over L. I don't know how he stomachs a murderer like you. He didn't even like my little spills – how could he stand swimming in _your_ ocean of blood?"

Light wants to run, wants to get up and shout for help, somehow find Watari and the pistol he knows the older man always carries. But the rational part of his brain calmly vetoes any such panicking. Not only is he being held down by L's unresponsive weight with this strange monster over them both, somehow he already knows of L. Which makes him even more dangerous, and yet indispensable. Light can't move until he better understands what exactly is going on, and how much this twisted doppelganger knows.

"What are you talking about?" Light grinds out through clenched teeth. The imposter's head tilts in a gleefully quizzical way, a foolish mockery of L's careful, thoughtful nods.

"Oh, so you _are_ still denying it? Well, I was right, then – this _is_ still part of the investigation after all. I knew L wouldn't fuck someone like you unless there was no other method. So I suppose I was also right in coming back to help."

"Help with _what_?"

"Well, Kira's confession, obviously!"

"I'm not Kira!" The words fly out on reflex before Light can truly weigh what their impact may be on the creature.

At the mention of the codename, L finally stirs. A crumbly whine cracks through his lips, and he slowly lifts his head to reveal two hugely-dilated eyes, black pupils heavy with an unfamiliar glaze. He holds Light's gaze with a glimmering heat, a slow simmer of realization as he remembers where he is and what he was doing previously. His eyes fade back into murky warmth, moaning softly as he slowly pushes forward. Light tenses with a gasp, feeling his hot slick length slide deeply inside, shocked that L would want to continue even with the disturbing doppelganger crouched over them both.

"L— _uhn_ … w-what are you doing?"

L looks up again, looming right in front of Light's face, close enough that they are tasting each other's breath; there is a frantic gleam in L's eyes, a delirious loss of control that twists his face into a picture of desperate fear.

"L-Light… kun… I don't know why… why I can't... It feels strange— _ahn_!"

L arches, pressing his chest across Light's own as his hazed eyes flutter open in shocked pleasure. His skin feels too tight, taut over his frame so that every touch, every brush of hair, or breath of air, vibrates through him like sound over the skin of a drum. The hypersensitivity is maddening, overwhelming; a buzzing static cloud of nerve endings that suddenly seem to extend far beyond the reaches of his body. It is like he can feel every cell boiling inside him, and even taking in air tickles the lining of his lungs. He can't even think about his arousal still buried within Light, doing everything in his power to ignore and forget the pure bolt of pleasure he had experienced from that single thrust. He shudders, the motion far more jolting than it should be, and then forces himself to turn and fix an eye on the culprit.

The copy rounds his back, wriggling in delight at being held in L's gaze, before leaning forward to cup a hand over the detective's trembling shoulders.

"I came back. I came back for you." And he is grinning again, a mad dog grin that gives the impression that he could bite at any second.

"B…" L breathes the letter, and if it were not for the way the duplicate squirms happily in affirmation, Light would have thought that it was just a random noise caught on the exhale of air.

"You're… B?" Light stutters out.

"B, B, B, B, _B_! Yes, that's me!" The copy pauses. "Or, at least, that's what _they_ called me – the name I live with until this one dies." He leans down to lick a straight line up between L's shoulder blades, making the detective curl into himself, bending with a shaky breath that stirs over Light's chest.

"It's a tragedy, though…" B continues. "Because he is the only one I can't kill, because it would be like killing myself, but how else am I supposed to become L? If I just stay as B forever, that would make everything he put me through worthless. It's a paradox, a terrible, tragic paradox."

And he is grinning again, smoothing his hands over the curve of L's shoulder in a lazy caress, watching how the skin bucks with tremors beneath the pads of his fingers. Slowly, softly, his hands move up until they rest easily around L's neck, fingers draped across his throat, thumbs pressed gingerly over the nape of his neck. His nails idly skim the hollow of L's throat, feeling the pulse skitter frantically under his feather-tip touches.

"S-stop it…" L moans softly.

L breathes shallowly through his nose, biting at his lip to keep his mouth closed and silence any breathy gasps his body might betray. He knows he should not be feeling like this, knows that these small motions should not make his bones melt, or make his blood turn to sugary sap, or make his lungs reflexively twitch, bringing in air that is thin and unquenching. Such delicate contact is not capable of producing this response; B's _stare_ is more intense than his touch (and it seems that L can feel that as well, a cold sensation of prickling spider legs across his back and scalp). He knows, but he cannot understand. He can't _think_. Inductions that used to fly across his mind have their wings clipped and flop uselessly with no direction; his keen brain which was once an electrical storm of unceasing synapse currents, is gummed up with rubber, stifling all thought.

Logic has been stripped of him, leaving him in a strangely quiet and eerie mindset, even more vulnerable than his current nakedness. All he knows for certain, is that somehow B is here, Light too, his body feels like it is burning up from the inside, and some combination of those three occurrences is a Bad Thing. All thoughts, ideas, and words beyond that are difficult to come by.

"B… Stop this…" L forces out, clearly struggling for control.

"Aww, but L, I'm helping!" And B grabs Light's legs, pushing them up and apart, fully exposing him, before leaning down and pressing forwards with his hips, forcing L to move as well. All three of them gasp for different reasons, Light from surprised outrage, L from an onslaught of unwanted pleasure, and B from the exertion of moving three bodies. Still holding Light down, legs pushed back almost to his head, bent double beneath them both, B carefully picks up a rhythm, nudging L's uncoordinated hips forward, forcing him into Light. Each motion makes L twitch uncontrollably, breathy gasps being drawn from his lips as tattered ribbons of lewd exhalation.

Light struggles, fighting against the pressure, kicking his legs, trying to dislodge the arms holding him in such a compromising position. But B is stronger than he looks, has gravity on his side and a drugged L between them to block the blows. He only presses down harder until Light groans from being bent in such a strange way.

"Get off me, you sick fuck," he growls, resorting to words when it becomes obvious after a few moments of effort that he is outmatched physically.

B pauses, stares at the glaring, flushed teen before leaning down and propping his head conversationally over the crook of L's shoulder.

"I can't do that, Yagami-kun. This is an experiment, and even _I'm_ not so sure what the outcome will be." He begins to bend his fingers, tracing small circles on Light's legs. "While I have a hypothesis… I would be very interested to see you try and refute it." He murmurs it against L's neck even as he forces his hips forward with a brusque jerk.

Light gasps at the sudden intrusion but recovers quickly, gritting his teeth.

"And what is your hypothesis, exactly?" he asks scathingly.

"If I told you ahead of time, it would bias the results!" B exclaims with the perfect air of innocent astonishment. "Besides, it's more fun to be hands on… Right, L?" He turns to slip his tongue about L's earlobe, husky breath warming his hair though the smell of it spins L's knotting stomach like a top. The tongue greases out of his ear to polish over the flushed surface of his cheek as L's eyes flutter, his shoulders hunch up and his mouth falls open as if to respond but no sound comes out with the hot shuddering breath. He holds himself rigid, fighting the sensations, fighting the pressure building inside him, the coils of heat, fighting in the only way left to him, drugs stealing away his every other faculty.

To Light, L's silence is like an agreement, and it only infuriates him further.

"L, what the hell is going on!?" he demands, on the verge of screaming, still desperately trying to maintain some form of dignity, resisting the impulse to panic. The only answer he receives is the hot length forcing itself into him once more, and L's strained, cracking moan. The action breaks down the small amount of self-control Light had managed to save, under the circumstances, and Light lashes out, twisting his body to slam L across the face with one of his elbows.

"L, _snap out of it!_ " He hardens his voice, but it still cracks and turns pleading at the end, beseeching for a reason, an explanation for the nightmare literally forcing them together, grinning while he does it. But L doesn't seem to hear him, and even if he does, the orgasm spasming through his body prevents him from responding. He had been trying to hold back, trying to deny B that one surrender, but when Light connected with his face, crisp and hot and sudden like a bolt of lightening, the heightened pain of it unstitches him completely, tearing silted pleasure out of him with violent force. He collapses on top of Light, a shivering gasping mess; his rapid heartbeat seems to make the room itself pulse around his senses.

Light can feel the liquid heat filling him, and is shocked by hair-trigger reaction. L never loses control, never surrenders completely to the pleasure, and the suddenness of L's climax stuns Light into stillness; he can't even move to hold the shivering bundle of nerves that L has become sprawled across his chest. B releases his legs, leans back laughing like a madman, and Light doesn't try to kick him. Everything feels numb, even the slurred mumbles coming from L are muffled.

"Ah… That was impressive, L! Really very fascinating, the drug seems to have quite a potent effect on you, hmm?" B taunts in a singsong voice, tracing his hands in long strokes across L's bare back and watching the resulting quivers. "But let's see what happens with a more direct stimulus…"

B's roving hands dip lower, out of Light's vision, but from the way L jerks and cries out, arching his back until he is only inches from the teenager's face, Light knows exactly what B has done. And with him being so close, Light can see the tears gathering in his glassy eyes, the line of drool smeared down his face, the feverish sweat coating his skin which has turned splotchy with tiny broken blood vessels… Light feels his throat tightening, feels the anger and compassion welling up, the same feelings donned as the mantle of Kira's crusade. And though L is far from innocent, should be condemned for trying to stop him, he can't help the twinges of empathy that scrape guiltily at his conscious while the detective pants and whimpers close enough to him that he can taste his breath. Despite everything, being relatively free to scoot away now that B is not crushing him into the mattress, he can't leave L to the monster.

L spasms forward with a scream and a single tear actually trickles down his face, Light gently smoothes it away with his lips, tenderly kissing L as the heightened sensations overwhelm him. Light brings his legs up, attempting to cradle L between them, pulling him closer to whisper reassurances in his ear. He doesn't fail to notice L is still fully erect, his refractory period being virtually eliminated by the drugs.

"L, can you hear me? Listen, it's going to be okay, I know it hurts, I know, but it won't soon. Just bear with it a little longer…"

"I didn't know you were so sentimental, Kira," B snarls menacingly, perhaps maddened by the display of affection, perhaps just mad in general. "You shouldn't lie to him, either; we can both tell, you know. I am only on the second finger; this muscle here is surprisingly resilient..."

"You bastard! Get off him!"

"Why? Are you jealous, Yagami-kun?" B reaches up to grip a handful of L's hair; joggle his head a little, like the inky strands are marionette strings. Light's heart twists at the tensed grimace of agony that contorts L's face even as he arches involuntarily into B's grip. "It makes sense that Kira would want to fuck L, but that will never happen. After all, I am a very aggressive top, and who did I model _that_ after?" B growls out; the tint of bitterness which laces his tone betrays him and his words confirm it. "I learn by example."

There is no time to question him, no time to ruminate on what _exactly_ he meant, because his head disappears behind L and the screaming starts again, ragged pealing gasps of shock and frustration as he can't even differentiate pleasure and pain anymore. It doesn't matter which one is more powerful as his raw nerves are stroked, since both sensations are unbearable. All Light can do is kiss him and murmur faulty reassurances, trying to convince himself more than L – trapped in an erotic fever of incoherency – that everything is going to be alright.

It is when he looks down, sees the warped bow of B's erection emerge from the folds of his jeans and the deranged hunger in his eyes, his feral detached gaze, that Light runs out of comforting lies. He watches in silent horror over the sprawled curves of the moaning detective as his copy spits in his palm, coating himself, though Light knows that handful of liquid will not be enough, will not even be _close._ Despite the fact that he and L couple under the pretense of interrogation, L is always gentle, never rushing until he is certain Light can handle it. Even with all that slow methodical preparation, it still always hurts at first. Light can't imagine the pain of forcing it practically dry into a, he assumes, virgin ass.

Indeed, as B begins to push forward, L's glazed eyes widen, a moment of clarity seemingly graced to him, and he tries to crawl away, pulling himself up using Light's shoulders. But his muscles aren't his own anymore and they heave and tremble; after a second of struggle, he collapses. B giggles, resumes his position behind the flushed and ripe body and without hesitation begins to slowly press in past the slight resistance. L goes rigid, taut as a strung bow, the sinew standing out on his flesh, and he is strangely silent, though Light can still feel his tears as they drip onto him. It is when B suddenly jerks forward with a grunt, fully seating himself inside, that L breaks. The single motion hair-triggers yet another unexpected orgasm and it crashes through L, drawing his eyes back up into his head, hyper-extending his limbs, forcing his hips to spasm despite how much it hurts to clamp down. B is also affected, raising a soft, surprised gasp, sounding almost child-like in his awe.

Light can do nothing but stare at the strange and disturbing display. B, wild-eyed, almost frantic, as if not sure what to do with all the treasures laid out before him, lays a bite here, a thrust there; and L, his entire body a taut humming string that collects every touch, every vibration, and resonates each one far beyond its normal capacity, is so far gone he is nearly unrecognizable. Despite how different they look, Light can't help but get the impression that it is L fucking himself.

B gives a triumphant laugh, though his eyes are wide as if he can't believe what he is doing, who he is doing it to, and he leans down to both taunt and verify his claim.

"L, L, L, let me inside, let me inside L, oh, but I'm already there…" He frees one hand from L's hair and reaches down between their bodies, a cold hand squirming between heated flesh, making L shudder in pleasure, Light shudder in disgust. He grabs at L, pulling him up, forcing him to his knees, separating him from Light, who can do nothing but remain chained in steel and horrific disbelief.

The movement raises an alluring cry from L; he has no way to stave off the pleasure creeping like thick viscous numbness across his midsection, the shrill, excited cries that spill continuously from his lips. The spasming of his inner thighs betray the true extent of his ecstasy and he jerks forward again, emitting more fluid in thin clear streaks. B hunches over him with a demonic grin, pressing deep and riding out the waves of L's shaky climax with a satisfied growl. Even when the bloom of orgasm fades, the tight warp of L's erection is still so hard it practically touches his stomach, his bright crimson crown still twitching, raw and eager. The drug-diluted blood churning in his veins, rushing through him and increasing the tension of the tight arc of flesh, causes veins of euphoria to stand out on his skin and he almost sobs in frustration, unable to release the overwhelming pressure no matter how many times he comes.

B forces himself inside again, thrusting impatiently without a hint of tenderness, as if he wants to catch up to L, experience the same pleasure assaulting L's every neuron. The rapture which is burning his body to cinders. Only perverse fetters hold him together, and those are on the verge of burning up and out, L along with them.

B has to reach the top before that happens.

He pulls the detective's arms back, forcing him to arch into his thrusts from below while he latches onto the junction between L's neck and shoulder, panting around the flesh caught between his teeth. B wishes he had a mirror, wishes he had flipped L over so he could watch, but he can't stop now, can't stop the blood filling his mouth or the sudden clenching tightness of L's muscles as he comes yet again in a thin dribble that is streaked with red. The claustrophobic pressure of L surrounding him is enough to send B over the edge as well. As B groans through his release, he contents himself by using Light as his mirror, the reflection in his wide eyes, the horror of the situation arranged visibly across his face, the witness to their reversed union.

L crumples, eyes bobbing up into his skull as his overheated mind collapses under the weight of the drugs. B cradles L's limp body, suddenly gentle and soothing, petting his hair and stroking his cheek, wiping away the residual tears. He slowly lowers L to the bed, arranging his limbs for comfort, tucking back the damp hair clinging to his face. B's eyes gleam as he crouches over L's form, drinking in the sight of his predecessor completely unwrapped, trying to memorize the plains of flesh that are now visible, genuinely fascinated by construction of his body. He leans down, hesitant but determined, focusing on the rapid breath still flowing between L's lips; he places his mouth across them, slowly, chastely, a mockery of love.

Light, no longer able to stomach the sick display of tenderness juxtaposed with the earlier insensible violence, finally finds his voice.

"Are you fucking insane?! Get _off_ him! He isn't even conscious anymore!"

B looks up, surprised. He tilts his head and it turns into a cruel smile.

"I apologize, Yagami-kun. I was so preoccupied with L that I almost forgot you were here. Silly of me, isn't it? You're the real reason I escaped to come back anyway…"

And B lifts himself off L, crawling closer to Light who shirks away frightened by B's complete attention on him alone. B continues to close the gap and Light panics, blurting out the first thing he can think of.

"You are so fucked, you know that? You think you can just come in here and do whatever you want? We will find you, whatever you are, we will hunt you down and—"

Light is cut off by a sudden slap across his face, hard enough to whip him to the side and raise a red handprint on his cheek. B giggles, slapping him across the other half.

"Don't try to threaten me, Yagami-kun, especially not when you're still tied down. L isn't going to try and find me, unless it is to thank me. I'm doing him a favor by being here."

Light sniffles, can taste the blood draining to the back of his throat from his bloody nose, before snarling back at B.

"What, you think L _enjoys_ being drugged and raped by some copycat freak?!"

"No, but it is merely a means to an end. You see, I am going to give him what he wants most in this world right now."

"Your severed head on a platter?"

"No, Yagami-kun… Kira's."

The smile on B's face eclipses all his previous ones as he pulls another syringe from thin air.

Light screams.

—

B hadn't been able to beat L in his challenge, hadn't been able to force him into a crime he could never solve. So instead he could only do one other thing:

Solve the crime of the century before L had the chance. Prove that, for once, his skills (and his knives) were sharper than L's. Though his methods were vulgar, they gave him the results he wanted. Though Light had been reduced to a crying, begging puddle, B still had been able to make him admit with every fiber of his being that yes, yes, yes, he was Kira. In less than an hour.

Something L hadn't been able to do spending several months with him locked up playing their cat and mouse game.

—

The first thing L awakes to is the worst headache he has ever had in his entire life. His temples play catch with a ball of pain and it feels like his brain is three sizes too big for his skull. It is enough to yank him out of a shattered dream and into the nightmare of reality.

The second thing L notices upon awakening is a rusty wail that rises and falls in a maddening rhythm. It is only after a few seconds that L realizes that the noise does not originate from the throbbing in his skull, but is filtering in from outside himself.

He covers his ears and blearily opens his eyes, blinking to clear the filmy gauze covering his vision. All he sees is an abstract red. It doesn't seem too pressing, at least not as intense as the throbbing agony in his head, and he is on the verge of closing his eyes again when suddenly the color twitches and comes alive. His eyes widen, suddenly taking in the larger picture as reality finally clicks into place. He jerks fully awake, jolted by the sudden horrific realization as the wails become a voice and the color becomes a body.

L brings his hands to cover his mouth as he sees Light, still handcuffed to the bed, his hands turned completely blue from pulling on them so hard for so long. He only seems half conscious, eyes closed though he is still panting and trembling in agony, sweat pouring off him, cutting rivulets in the blood caked over his body. There are cuts all across his chest and arms, small shallow cuts that have already dried over, but what draws L's attention and holds it (until the sight becomes too much and he has to turn and vomit through his fingers) is the deep red trickling from between Light's legs, turning the sheets nearly black. The loose flesh studded with sickly black stitches where his potency used to hang, the deformed scarring of his brutalized parts.

Quivering all over again, unable to remember what happened, or how, he looks up as if to beseech God for answers but instead finds a message scrawled in drying blood across the top of the wall.

_L_

_I apologize for damaging your suspect, but it was the only way to get him to confess. I made certain he said it coherently enough for the cameras to pick up. The epidural I gave him will have worn off before you awake so I hope you have some morphine available to keep him quiet. (Or the electric chair – that would also be an effective way to end his suffering)._

_B_


End file.
